Eric-Paul Riege: ojo|-|ólǫ́ @ the Henry

Eric-Paul Riege’s “ojo|-|ólǫ́”(pronounced oh-ho hol-ohn) at the Henry is the kind of exhibition that slips in and out of your grasp, in the best possible way. One moment, you’re watching the Diné artist parody late-night TV salesmanship in “iZiiT [3]: RIEGE Jewelry + Supply [as seen on tv],” flamboyantly pitching tiny plush sheep with gestures that call to mind the flashiest QVC salesperson. The next, you’re standing before towering soft sculptures that feel ceremonial, uncanny, glamorous and occasionally faintly ominous all at once.

That dizzying layering is part of the point. Whether it’s in hanging sculptures studded with shells, silver and hair, a poem painted directly on the wall or his mesmerizing video installations, Riege constantly pushes viewers to question what they’re looking at, and why they’re interpreting it the way they are. His work blends Diné weaving traditions with internet aesthetics, queer club culture, colonialist critique, fashion, performance and satire into something that feels deliberately (and joyfully) resistant to easy categorization.

There’s humor here (even the most charcoal-black get-up in the video installation seems to contain a wink), but also real emotional and historical weight. Throughout the exhibition, Riege probes questions of authenticity, museum collecting practices and the blurry line between “real” and “fake.” Yet “ojo|-|ółǫ́” never feels didactic. Instead, it unfolds like an elaborate visual collage: playful, haunted and richly alive.